Adventures In Babysitting
by silver ruffian
Summary: Rosemary," Coyote rumbles. "That's one ugly baby." Coyote, Sam and Dean babysit in the Big Apple. Happy Birthday, Terry! I wrote this for you, and Phoebe helped. A lot, so you can blame her! 2 chapters filled with crack, and nothing but crack.
1. trading places

_**A/N:**_ Happy Birthday, Terry! For all you do, this one's for you! This is another crack fic from the Coyote 'verse. I had a co-conspirator with this fic – none other than PADavis. She's not as normal as you think she is, folks. She made some really good suggestions about this story, and I decided to run with them. I'll never look at ring-tailed lemurs quite the same way again.

_**Disclaimer:**_ I do not own _Supernatural _or _Rosemary's Baby_. This is for fun, not profit.

* * *

_**Chapter 1 – trading places**_

Coyote stands on his hind legs, lifts the netting around the basinet, leans in, and takes a long look. His ears go straight up and those wide green eyes of his get even wider.

_Daamnn._

"Rosemary," he grumbles, "that's one ugly baby."

Rosemary Woodhouse rolls her eyes as she leans down and picks up her suitcase. "Like that's the first time I've ever heard _that_, Old Man. I'm calling in that favor now. We'll be gone for only five days."

Little ugly coos and wraps a pudgy hand around Coyote's left paw. Roamer's expression softens a little. Well, it's a kid, after all. "What's Hellboy's name?"

"Andrew," Rosemary snaps.

Guy Woodhouse comes out of the bedroom loaded down like a pack mule with luggage. Rosemary looks at him and her eyes narrow dangerously. Coyote can feel the tension in the air. Kid wouldn't be here if it hadn't been for ol' Guy's deal with the coven in the Bramford, and ever since then you better believe Guy pays for it. Every damn day.

"And please don't call him Hellboy," Rosemary huffs wearily.

"Wouldn't think of it," Coyote lies cheerfully and easily.

* * *

"Dude," Dean says with a smirk. "This is one creepy ass building." He punches the elevator button for the eighth floor.

Sam looks around doubtfully as he switches his duffel to his right hand. "The Bramford. Place has a history all right. Not a good one either."

"Aw, come on, Sammy. Lighten up. We're here. How bad could it get?

Sam's bitchface is right on the horizon. "A _babysitting_ gig, Dean. Babysitting?"

"So?" Dean shrugs. "It's a job. You said you wanted something _different_." He waggles his eyebrows at his brother. "_This _is different."

"Yeah I did, but…" Sam sees that wicked gleam in Dean's eyes and decides to drop it. "Okay. Fine. Back to round two, Captain Macho."

Dean straightens up a little. "Bring it, Poindexter."

"So who's hotter? Lily Munster or Morticia Addams?"

Dean snort chuckles. "You kiddin' me? Morticia Addams is a _babe_."

"Carolyn Jones or Angelica Huston?" Sam huffs.

"Both."

"Huh."

The elevator door slides open, and the boys have to step quickly to the side to avoid being trampled.

Rosemary comes in first, followed by Guy the pack mule (_Dude's whipped_, Dean thinks to himself. _Ka-chow!_) and several other older people with suitcases and bags. "Get out of our way, young'uns. We're outta here!" one cackles.

Sam and Dean are very nearly tossed out on their ears. Sam eyes the elevator door as it closes. "That would be the coven."

Dean nods. "That would be them. Gee…I'm…I'm…underwhelmed."

When Sam and Dean walk in Coyote's still four legged and furry, but he's sitting in a big overstuffed easy chair, burbling and cooing to the baby in his arms. The kid's wrapped up in a blanket, and the noises the Old Man's making are syrupy sweet and fairly disgusting.

"Goo goo gaa gaa. Yeahhh. You like that, huh? Who's a good boy? Who's a good boy?"

Dean rolls his eyes as he locates the bedroom and tosses his duffel bag in a corner.

Sam stands there looking around the apartment. It's pretty spacious for one in New York City. Got a really nice view…_and is that Central Park over there? _Sam goes over to the window for a closer look.

"You tell the woman to her face that her baby's ugly." Dean shakes his head. "That was velvety smooth, fuzzy. _Not._" Dean leans down, lifts the baby blanket, then jerks back. "Whoa! That's not a baby. That's a special effect!"

"Don't listen to him, booboo," Coyote purrs to the baby. "He just doesn't understand."

_Booboo?_ Dean frowns. "So, uh, what's ugly's ---I mean the baby's name?"

"Andy."

"Uh huh." Dean smirks. "Hey, Sammy! C'mere. Want you to meet Andy."

_How ugly could it be?_ Sam thinks to himself. Dean flips back the blanket.

Sam stares. "Damn. That is one seriously ugly baby."

"See? I rest my case," Dean says smugly.

Sam's eyes unfocus a little. "_That_ is hardcore ugly."

"Sam ---"

"And I don't mean your run of the mill ugly."

"Uh, Sammy?"

"I'm talking apocalyptic, hide the virgins ---"

"Sam ---"

" ---- Katie bar the door and break out the Latin and the holy water ugly."

Dean and Coyote look at each other and silently mouth _Who's Katie? _to each other.

"Sam, we get it," Dean says. "We do."

"Sorry," Sam says mildly.

"And _you_," Coyote's ears flatten slightly at the tone in Dean's voice. "Just what the hell are we doing here?"

"Babysitting." Coyote continues to rock the baby. "I, uh…owed a favor to Zephis the Unspeakable Horror."

Dean quirks an eyebrow at him. "Who?"

"Zephis the Unspeakable Horror," Coyote says. He's staring at Dean like he thinks Dean should know who that is.

Dean shrugs. "Don't have a clue, dude."

"Oh-kay, pup." Coyote shakes his head ruefully. "The original debt was between me and Zephis the Unspeakable Horror, who traded it to Aron the Desolate and Hungry so Aron wouldn't eat him."

"Uh…yeah," Dean says warily.

"Aron got into a tight spot and traded it off to the Cult of Mahom Alt."

"And?"

"The Cult of Mahom Alt was a bunch of losers. Tried to raise their long lost leader, Aldo the Inglourious Basterd, and made hell freeze over instead."

Sam's eyes widen. "Hell froze over? I didn't hear about that."

Coyote huffs. "And you weren't gonna, either. Hell Incorporated clamped down on the news quicker than Disney going after folks who mess with the Mouse."

"So the favor got traded," Dean frowns. "Move it along. Work with me here, will ya?"

Coyote nods. "Geez, one stupid little favor and the damn thing gets passed around like a damn library card. Mercus the Unholy Flatulent got it next."

"Who?"

"Mercus the Unholy Flatulent. He Who Farts Fire and Brimstone. Never gets invited to A-list parties." Coyote quirks an eyebrow. "And he wonders why."

"I get it. I get it, Dean says quickly, but not quickly enough. "So somehow this Rosemary chick gets the favor. She needed some time off and decided to call it in. Which is why we're babysitting."

"Yep."

"I'm almost afraid to, but I gotta ask. What was the original favor?"

Coyote looks genuinely puzzled. "After all this time, I forgot."

Andy grumbles a little to get Coyote's attention. The Old Man smiles and tickles the little fugly underneath his chin, then gurgles happily and waves his fat little fists in the air. Frankly, Sam's impressed at the Old Man's parenting skills.

"Uh huh." Apparently Dean's not impressed. "Let me see if I have this straight: this kid is the son of Satan, and his mom and dad and the rest of the coven are dumb enough to let a trickster god and two hunters into their apartment to babysit the kid while said coven goes off on a five day cruise to the Bahamas. And instead of hunting said fiend down, you decide to honor said debt."

"Yep," the Old Man says smugly.

"You're an all day sucker, you know that? Kid's the Anti-Christ," Dean says flatly.

"No, he's not."

Dean quirks an eyebrow at him. "He's not? He's the son of Satan."

"He's_ a_ son of Satan. But he's_ not_ the Anti-Christ."

"Can I see him for a moment?" Dean says softly. Sam turns away from the window to watch. He can't read Dean now. Dean's pupils spark with golden fire.

Coyote hands the kid over.

Andy looks up at Dean goggle eyed at first. It's almost like he knows he's in the arms of the most lethal demon hunter on the planet. They stare at each other for a moment, and then Dean relaxes. Sam sees it, sees all the tension flow out of his brother's body, sees that slight golden tint fade from his eyes. Dean's face softens. Despite the leather and the stubble Dean looks young again, almost as young as Sam.

"Hey there, buddy," Dean says softly. A corner of his mouth twitches up into a slight grin. He tickles the baby's chin gently and Junior laughs as he wraps his pudgy little fingers around Dean's finger.

"Made a few adjustments to the apartment," Coyote drawls. He yawns and stretches. "Place needs some upgrades. We'll leave 'em. Rosemary's a good kid. Guy's a tool."

"Upgrades? Like what?"

"A high end superautomatic coffee machine for one." The Old Man grins slyly. "And a steam shower."

"Take the kid." Dean hands Andy off to Coyote. "Ah'll be back." It's Ahnald. One of Dean's better imitations. As usual, Sam doesn't get it. Coyote laughs.

So does the baby.

* * *

"The HESACM Mach 4000. I love you, baby." Dean practically purrs, soft and low, as he lovingly pats the stainless steel exterior of the coffee machine. Sam shudders. It's somehow disturbing to watch Dean do that.

Dean doesn't appear to notice Sam's reaction. He squints at the control panel and then grins. "And hey, they even got a feature for that half assed latte of yours, Francis."

Sam closes his eyes and breathes in the rich aroma. "Ah. Dude. This is the nectar of the damn gods right here." He opens his eyes, takes a sip, and his toes curl up in his boots.

"Oh yeah. Hey. Check out the note on the fridge." Dean removes the blue index card and stares at the neat block lettering.

"What's it say?"

"Crowd of assholes show up every Monday morning early. With pitchforks. Sorry! Give them a scare."

"Huh," Dean says thoughtfully. "And that's why she called in the favor, boys and girls."

"Dean, you read the baby, didn't you?"

"Huh?"

"Yeah, Dean, you did. You read him."

"No, I didn't."

Sam's bitchface blooms. "Yeah you did. Now give. I want details. What is he?"

Dean blows out a breath. "Satan's the daddy, all right, but the kid isn't the AntiChrist. Far as I can tell, he's not evil. Just ugly."

"Yeah. About that. What the hell's gonna happen when he gets older?"

Dean shrugs. "He'll grow out of it."

"Grow out of it?"

"Yep. He's seven months old now? I figure when he's about a year...year and a half." Dean shrugs. "It's camouflage. Kinda like one'a those things you see on the Nature Channel."

Sam stares at Dean in mock-disbelief. "You watch the Nature Channel? You?"

Dean rolls his eyes. "Shut up. They had a special on prehistoric sharks and I couldn't find the remote." He takes another sip of coffee and closes his eyes. "Damn, that's good!"

"Uh huh. Yeah."

"Anyway, it's something to throw hunters off. They go after the ugly ones while the real Anti-Christ goes on his or her merry way." As soon as Dean says that Sam flinches.

_Damn._

"Uh, Dean, Dad thought I was ---"

"I know he did. Dad was wrong. Hey, look, if this is seriously freaking you out, you can go on a road trip of your own. You don't have to hang around here."

Sam grins a little. "Nah. I'll stay." That suddenly boyish look on his face is replaced by a more solemn look. "Damn."

"What?"

"Suppose they don't come back."

Dean grins. "Bet they do. Loser wears a dress and high heels around Bobby's house for twenty hour hours."

Sam's grin is just as bright. "You're on, Deanna."

* * *

On to chapter two!


	2. the devil wears Calvin Klein

_**Chapter 2 – the devil wears Calvin Klein**_

There's a huge plasma flat screen tv mounted on the living room wall that wasn't there when they first walked into the place. Old Man wasn't kidding about upgrades.

"We got cable huh?" Dean drawls as he sprawls out on the couch. He smirks a little as Sam is forced to take the loveseat. Damn thing looks almost too small and dainty for Sasquatch; his knees are almost up to his chin.

"Better," Coyote smirks. "Anything you wanna watch, we got it. And I mean anything."

Dean settles back with a huge purple bowl of buttered popcorn on his lap. Sam gets one too, but he sniffs at the butter flavor and turns his nose up.

"What?" Dean smirks. Sam glares at him."Oh all right." The butter flavor vanishes from Sam's bowl. "You are such a girl, Sammy."

_Bolt_ is up first. Coyote sniffs noisily at the end as Bolt and Mittens and Rhino snuggle on the couch with Penny and her mom.

"What?" Coyote says. "You can't tell me you didn't mist up a little at the end. Poor little guy."

Dean's eye roll is classic. He enjoyed the hell out of the movie but he's not gonna admit it.

Next up is _Appaloosa_, with Ed Harris and Vigo Mortensen.

Dean stares. "What? No _3:10 to Yuma_? Bale and Crowe?"

It's Coyote's turn to smirk. "It's on the playlist, niño."

The Old Man's eyes widen just as Jeremy Irons kills the sheriff and his deputies.

"Gotta go."

Dean's eyes widen at the same time. "Don't you do it, Old Man," he sputters as he struggles to sit upright. "Don't—

Coyote disappears in a quick fade out.

"Crap!" Dean snarls. Andy reappears in Dean's lap. Dean balances the baby and the huge bowl of popcorn gracefully. The baby laughs, and Dean frowns. "Oh, crap."

Sam's jaws are full of popcorn and he freezes in mid-chew. "What?"

"Just what I said." Dean eyes Andy doubtfully. "Crap."

Dean wrinkles his nose as he carefully gets to his feet with both hands underneath the baby's armpits. Dean puts Andy nose to nose with Sam.

Sam gets a whiff. "What? Dean, no…"

"No? Your turn, Sammy. So who do you think changed your diapers when you were his age, Sasquatch? Dad?"

"I can't, um, change his diaper. Uh, I'll miss the movie?" Sam says hopefully as he pulls out the big guns. Puppy dog eyes.

Dean growls at him. "Uh uh. Not letting you off that easy. We got our own personal TiVo here." His eyes spark gold and the sound and picture freeze.

Sam huffs. "Dean--- "

"You need to clean him up, and I mean really clean him up, and then check to see if he's got diaper rash. If he does, then you gotta put ointment on him, and then powder his little butt up before you put the clean diaper on him."

"Deaann…" Sam whines.

"We salt and burn corpses every day, and you're getting all dainty all on me all of a sudden because of a little baby shit? Come on, Sam! I'm giving you the benefit of my expertise. I don't need any more hands on experience with this. You do."

Sam grumbles. Andy laughs.

Andy sprays Sam in the face moments later as soon as Sam opens up his diaper.

"Dude," Dean yells through the bathroom door to Sam minutes later. "At least you got to use the steam shower first!"

* * *

Forty five minutes later Dean's sitting in the easy chair feeding Andy a bottle of formula. Sam stalks in still damp from the shower. He stares at Andy and shakes his head. "His waste is a biohazard, he's hung like a fire hose, and you're feeding him? Not a good idea, Dean. Not at all."

Dean shrugs. "Geez, Samantha, you're such a wuss," Dean grumbles. "Tell you what. You can pick the next two movies."

Big mistake.

"Killer pollen?" Sam whispers roughly in disbelief nearly two hours later as the end credits for _The Happening_ roll. "What the hell was _that_?"

"Oh, I don't know. A bad movie?" Dean cradles Andy in one arm. He tosses a popcorn kernel towards his mouth and misses. "We wanted to watch 'American Psycho' or 'Max Payne' but no, that was too much like right, wasn't it, dude?" Dean says to Andy.

Andy coos softly in agreement.

Sam ignores both their sorry asses.

Coyote blinks back in ten minutes later. He carefully sniffs the air, relaxes and sprawls out onto the couch.

"Punk," Dean mutters. The Old Man pretends not to hear.

Next up is _ET The Extraterrestrial. _Some time later ET's skin turns grey and his eyes close. Sam sniffs rather loudly. Dean pretends there's something in his eyes. Dust. Yeah, that's it.

"Get up, you little bastard. You're not dead," Coyote rumbles.

Sam and Dean stare at him, frowning. Coyote shrugs. "What?"

* * *

The crowd of assholes show up early the next morning.

_**BAM!**_

"Aw, come on, darling," Coyote drawls softly. "I'm Batman. Wanna see my Batmobile?" Lassie blinks coquettishly, then disappears in the blink of an eye as Coyote wakes up in the headspace.

_**BAM!**_

"Dean Michael Winchester," Jessica Alba purrs. The ribbon wrapped around her body is wide and purple, tied in a big perfect bow at her right hip.

Dean's always_ loved_ the color purple.

"Come on over here and unwrap your present, big boy."

_**BAM!**_

Dean wakes up.

_Son of a bitch!_

_**BAM!**_

"Open up! We know you're in there."

"What the hell?" Sam wakes up just as the trees in Bobby Singer's yard uproot themselves and start singing "Thank You For Lettin' Me Be Myself Again" while dancing in a chorus line.

_**BAM!**_

"Hear what I say! Give up the Spawn of Satan, that we may purify him! I speak Salvation! I speak Redemption!"

Andy starts crying.

"I got this," Dean mutters. He jumps out of bed wearing only a grey t-shirt and a pair of black boxer briefs. He stalks over to the crib, picks Andy up and hands him off to Sam. Then Dean goes to the door and yanks it open.

_Jessica Alba, damn it._

Somebody's gonna pay for waking him up at five freakin' thirty in the morning.

The crowd jerks back when they see the look of fury on Dean's face. "Something I can help you sonsabitches with?" Dean snarls. He puts all the force he has into his voice, which is considerable. Coyote's up and pacing around in the headspace now, wide awake and thoroughly pissed off.

The crowd lowers their pitchforks. Dude in the lead's a mousy looking type wearing a preacher's collar. He tries to peer around Dean's shoulder into the apartment. Dean snarls at him and preacher man draws back.

"Huh…is Guy or Rosemary here?" the priest stammers.

"NO."

"Well, uh, is the spawn of Satan here?"

Dean smiles wolfishly. "Right here, pal. Who's asking?"

The older man steps back, looks Dean up and down in total confusion. "You're...you're not Satan's seedling."

Dean's smirk is wicked sharp, but "Reverend Flavel and his Righteous Flock" are too damn stupid to be scared. "Dude couldn't make it today, padre. I'm filling in for him."

"Well, humph, this is highly irregular, but we are the righteous followers of the Lord." The crowd roars its support and approval. "I am the Right Reverend Theodore Campbell, and this is my flock. We are here to smite you and all who dwell in this den of iniquity."

"Oh yeah? Smite this." Dean's eyes blaze golden.

* * *

The first cop on the scene calls in five minutes later.

"We need Animal Control out here. We got lemurs."

"You -- what?"

"Yep. Ring-tailed lemurs."

* * *

Everything gets so _big_. Too big. Reverend Campbell and his flock can't understand it. Their bodies shrink, and they sprout fur in all the long places.

Nice tails, though. Nice and long, with those black and white rings.

Campbell loves his tail.

He misses the sun and the grass, and he and some of the other males don't like the way the big females look at them. They're bossy. Mrs. Indira Ramsey chases Campbell around the hallway and snaps at him. She tries to grab his tail.

It gets worse when the humans show up.

Campbell tries talking to them. "Now see here, we're doing the Lord's work."

He's not used to being ignored. They don't understand a word he says; it's grunts and groans and chirps instead of words. He can't breathe and he can't move when the humans slip that rope on a stick around his neck.

Sometime later Reverend Campbell comes back to himself sitting stark naked in a cage in New York City's Animal Control Center. He's grooming his second in command, the choir director, Harvey Moss.

Harvey doesn't mind.

Reverend Campbell keeps right on grooming him. Employee Jerry Callahan walks through the cage area. Callahan stops in front of the enclosure and takes a picture of the two men with his cell phone.

Five minutes after that Claire Nichols, a reporter at the NY Post, gets a call.

* * *

Sometimes being the human half of the trickster god Coyote sucks. Dean admits it, knows there's no getting around it. Like it or not, and sometimes he doesn't, there are limits to what he can do.

But there are some days when this life --- _his life_ -- surely does have its perks.

A day later, when the story hits the stands _(Religious Leader Gets His Freak On)_ Campbell alleges that a golden eyed fallen angel wearing black boxer briefs made him do it.

So naturally, the follow up article was headlined _The Devil Wears Calvin Klein._ The sub-headline was: _And He Made Me Do It._

Priceless.

* * *

Six hours later Dean, Sam, Coyote and Andy go for a walk. "Do us good to get out, get some sun and fresh air, Sammy," Dean says.

He's way too cheerful. Sam knows something's up.

He scowls when they walk into the nanny park. "Dean!"

Dean blinks innocently. "What?"

Sam's bitchface is in full bloom.

"Chicks go for the car, and babies, and dogs."

Coyote grins to himself.

It's wall to wall women, and they're all Coyote's/Dean's type, namely alive and breathing. Andy actually looks normal now, all cute and google-eyed. He giggles as the women swarm around his stroller.

"Oh, he's so precious!"

"What a beautiful baby!"

"Aww…"

"Well," Dean says grandly as he holds court on that park bench. "I don't see why any _real_ man would object to babysitting." He smirks at Sam and winks while Sam does a slow burn.

Coyote preens under all the attention. He doesn't mind being on a leash. He looks different, big and blonde and all puppy dog handsome.

"Oh, what a beautiful dog! Can I pet him?"

"Such a good boy!"

"Oh, he's so sweet!"

Two hours later Dean's collected about twenty phone numbers, Coyote's all petted out and Sam's_ extremely_ annoyed.

It's win-win, people.

* * *

The angels of the Lord show up on the sixth day.

Dean wakes up first. He sits straight up in bed as that tingle inside his head flares up. It's familiar to him by now, the feeling he always gets whenever something supernatural and really bad ass is around. He stumbles out of bed, all sleep tousled, eyes gone to slits, wearing a fresh pair of black boxer briefs, and he lets that fizzy feeling in his head lead him towards the kitchen.

In the headspace they share Coyote yawns and rolls over on his back. _Five more minutes,_ he mumbles.

_Must… protect…coffee machine,_ Dean thinks muzzily to himself. Protecting Sam and Andy are a given, something he doesn't even think about.

Dean shuffles into the kitchen with his head down, and the three beings standing there blink at him in surprise. The only reason he doesn't unload on them quick fast and in a hurry is because one of them is a woman. She's cute.

And Dean knows they're harmless. For now, anyway.

She's attractive. Tall, slender, with high cheekbones and shoulder length red hair, flanked by a scowling black dude in a suit and another one with piercing blue eyes and a rumpled tan raincoat.

The black dude clears his throat. "We are ---"

"Mmph…" Dean shambles over, snags a clean black coffee mug out of the dishwasher Coyote magicked up.

"...friggin'…frackin'…angels of the lord," Dean mumbles. "Yadda yadda yadda." He punctuates each word with a handflap, stands there fidgeting and dull eyed as the HESACM Mach 4000 works its magic.

Uriel tries again. "We're ---"

Dean growls. Loud and long. Translation: _Shut the hell UP._

Uriel shuts it.

When the mug is filled, Dean closes his eyes and drinks deep.

Anna, Castiel and Uriel are still standing there when he opens his eyes, and that pisses Dean off a little.

"Wha?" Dean barks, the sharp edge in his voice still dulled by sleep.

"We're here to observe the infant, Dean," Anna says softly.

"Neh. Nope. Nuh uh." Dean sways on his feet. "Sleep now."

"But---" Castiel says, and Dean glares at him.

"Nyet," Dean mutters roughly, and that glint in his eyes sparks a little more golden.

Castiel shuts the hell up.

Doesn't matter that Dean just drank a whole mug of exquisitely brewed coffee. It's three damn thirty in the morning, damn it, and he feels that irresistible pull of his bed again.

Dean Winchester is _not_ a morning person. Never has been, never will be.

Besides, Jessica Alba's waiting on the other side of sleep. She's got that skin-tight Fantastic Four costume on, and she needs help taking it off.

Uriel and Castiel glance longingly at the HESACM Mach 4000. So does Anna.

"Help yourself," Dean mumbles as he stumbles past. He huffs to himself. Angels. Big deal. "Don't let the door hit ya on the way out."

They don't.

* * *

Rosemary and Guy Woodhouse, along with Minnie and Roman Castavet and the other cult members, come back two days later.

Sam loses the bet.

Dean magicks up a cute summer frock for Sam to wear. It's size 24, sleeveless, bright yellow with red and blue tulips. It's a little tight across the back, but Dean assures Sam he looks absolutely fetching in it.

John Winchester tries to keep his game face on. He really does. "Ah, Sam, it…it could have been worse."

"Worse?" Sam throws his arms out to his sides. "Dad, how could this get worse?"

John blinks. "I got nothing."

John's game face collapses when Dean presents Sam with a pair of bright red pumps.

Bobby Singer refuses to comment.

He giggles, though. A lot.

* * *

**A/N:** Well, that's it. Terry, m'dear, hope you're having a wonderful birthday weekend. You can blame Phoebe for this. She came up with the idea of the lemurs, the name for Dean's beloved HESACM Mach 4000, and _Porky's II_, which I modified a little (used some of the dialogue from the movie instead) the note on the fridge, and my fleshing out of exactly how Rosemary got her hands on the note (well, sorta).

Other pop culture references included Aldo the Inglourious Basterd, which is taken from Brad Pitt's next movie, _Inglourious Basterds_. I'm pretty sure you guys recognize the rest. Thanks for reading!


End file.
